|Lettuce gone haywire.|
I used to think it was just me. But I brought it up at dinner one night and my son emphatically agreed.
"I hate frisee. What good is this stuff? It's completely obnoxious."
While Theo munched his frisee as a cow would a cud, he concurred.
"Yeah. It's no good. Who needs it? They should take it out."
My husband, however, acted as if we'd both gone loopy.
Some months passed and a work friend, Natasha, brought it up during lunch.
With a faintly concealed look of disgust she asked,
"What do you think about frisee?"
"I hate the stuff. It's annoying as hell."
"Me too. What's the point?"
"Hey! I totally agree with you and so does Theo. But, Tim thinks we're crazy."
A few months went by and Tim and I were preparing salad. The frisee subject once again reared its ugly, frizzy head. Only this time, the conversation was more specific.
Tim: "I just don't like that it's so springy. It's hard to get into your mouth."
Me: "Right. I agree. That's exactly the problem!"
Tim: "Oh. I thought you were saying you didn't like the flavor."
Me: "It's not the flavor, it's the obnoxiousness I don't like."
Tim: "Oh. Well in that case, yes I agree. It's a pain."
Ah. Someone please call NATO. We have detent.
Here is what having frisee in your salad accomplishes: In addition to fighting you on the way in and down you get dressing splattered--
- over your face.
- onto your shirt.
- across the table.
- into your eye.
- into someone else's eye,
What it boils down to is that frisee, leaf of hostility, is high maintenance. In order to properly choke it down it must be cleaved, mutilated and properly subjugated by blade. Unless your name is Attila, who wants to have such acts of violence as part of their salad making ritual? Certainly not I.
OK. Show of hands. How many out there would like it if they took frisee out of the line-up of usual salad suspects? Thank you. Just as I thought. It's unanimous.